


Hellbreaker

by AlanSchezar



Category: Neverwinter (Video Game)
Genre: Battle, Contracts, Fallen Angels, Hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26143450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlanSchezar/pseuds/AlanSchezar
Summary: What is the price of redemption? Death in a righteous battle had not been enough to save Sir Accolon the Dolorous, a dark elf knight with a sin stained past, from damnation. Refusing to surrender to despair, he devoted his eternity to ceaseless battle against the denizens of Avernus, until his rebellion caused so much chaos that a greater infernal power intervened. Now, a strange and different sort of infernal pact is being proposed, one which may open the door to true redemption for a fallen knight.





	Hellbreaker

_Yea though I have dwelt in darkness, deliver me into the light..._

The voice of Brother Kaden of the Iron Will resounded through Accolon’s mind, reciting the creed of The Steel Cross Brotherhood, the words called forth from the depths of his long memory, drowning out the thundering of cloven hooves and the furious howls of the approaching legion of devils.

_Let only truths pass my lips,_  
_Let my feet stray not from the paths of righteousness..._

As the first devil reached him, it raised its sword with a scream of fury, intent on cleaving him in half, but the dark elf sidestepped, striking off its horned head with a blinding flash of his sword. The next devil lunged, but met with a crushing blow from a shield stolen from one of its unfortunate comrades. The next instant, the tip of the dark elf’s sword slammed through the devil’s throat, sending it careening into whatever black oblivion awaits a slain devil.

_Let my heart be not afraid in the face of evil,_  
_Let my blade rise up in righteous vengeance against the wicked..._

His blade flashed and his shield rang with the blows. They fell to his right and his left, some cloven in two, some with skulls crushed in by the dark elf’s infernal shield. How many had it been? Hundreds? Thousands? He had long since lost count. What was the point of keeping count? Eternity is plenty of time for slaughtering devils. He had earned this damnation, he knew, by the life of wickedness and cruelty he had lived before he met Sir Kaden and Sir Grindrolas, before the Steel Cross Brotherhood. Joining them in the final battle against the mad sorcerer Beleth had not been enough to atone for the innocent blood on his hands...even dying in that battle hadn’t been enough.

He roared in fury and rage, throwing himself against the horde, his ashen body soaked in their gore. His rage fuelled his flashing sword as it rained down strikes against the infernal legion. Always he hearkened to the voice of Sir Kaden, willing his mind to be filled with that voice, to drown out the despair and oppressive pall of evil that hung in the very air of this place. It did not matter...he would slaughter them for all eternity if that was his fate.

The last devil of the most recent throng hurled itself at him with a scream. Grasping his sword in both hands and letting his shield hang loose, he slashed across its gut and split it in half, it’s legs stumbling and falling in heap while its blood splashed torso rolled to a stop nearby.

The dark elf stared down at it, his lungs heaving, though breath had ceased to matter when he had died so long ago.

The dying devil stared back and let out a gurgling chuckle. “Fool,” it choked, “Your struggle is futile...Zariel’s legions are endless...”

The dark elf set his jaw in a grim sneer. “Well then, at least now there is one less of you,” he said, and slammed his blade through the creature’s skull and into the searing, blood drenched dirt beneath. Its body erupted into flames and vanished in a cloud of ash. Its destroyer sighed in exhaustion and leaned on the hilt of his sword to steady himself. 

“Until the long night is ended...” he whispered.

“ENOUGH OF THIS!” 

The sudden roar of a resonant, yet strangely feminine voice from behind him made the dark elf spin on his heel, setting his shield and brandishing his sword in readiness.

The sight that met his eyes stunned him into silence. Before him, flanked by a pair of devil guards, stood a tall, slender female devil. Her lithe, powerfully muscled body was encased in a strange, gnarled kind of reddish-black armor that seemed to envelop her form rather than having been put on. Broad, black, flame tinged wings spread out behind her as she strode toward him. Only her hands, her clawed feet, and her bald head were visible; her skin was an ashen greyish white, save for the blackness around her eyes that seemed to seep down her cheeks. Above her head a hellish halo of flames burned. An aura of pure fury and malice swirled around her, and the dark elf had to steel himself to resist fleeing from the oppression of that terrible aura. Every being in the Nine Hells knew who she was – Zariel, the Archduchess of Avernus. 

She stopped a few strides away and regarded him with burning eyes. “Who is this that slaughters my legions with such impertinence?! SPEAK!” she said, the final word seeming to actually strike him, staggering him on his feet and compelling him to answer.

“I am... _I was_...known as Sir Accolon the Dolorous, a founding member of the Steel Cross Brotherhood,” he said after taking a deep breath of sulfuric air to steady himself.

She regarded Accolon with the same cruel fury burning in her eyes as before, but he almost thought he saw a faint smirk appear on her black lips. She gazed around at the carnage he had created. “What do you hope to achieve by this foolishness? Surely you don’t think you can overthrow me and my armies?”

“It matters not,” he said with a grim sneer, his courage returning, “As long as I can hold a sword, I will keep using it to strike down evil. I will never relent. Never.”

Zariel burst into a roar of reverberate laughter, setting her clawed hands on her hips and regarding him with a bemused expression. “I rather like your attitude, I must say,” she said, then stroked her chin thoughtfully, “I could use someone like you...far too many of my servants are incompetent, indolent and apathetic. I want someone with _fire_ in their veins to serve me...I don’t suppose you would be interested in making a deal...” As she was speaking, she strode forward and circled around him, looking him over, but keeping just beyond the measure of his sword. 

He shifted his stance, keeping his shield always between him and the archdevil. “I will never serve you, fiend!” he snarled, “I gave my last breath to the cause of justice, and I will not falter now.”

She snarled at him, “Why so devoted? Did your comrades not leave you to die? Where was your vaunted Brotherhood as you lay gasping out your last breath in the dirt?! Give in to the darkness of this place...let it seep through your soul and become something so much greater...I could give you such power, you can’t imagine...”

“Hold your tongue, fiend!” he growled back, “You will not sully the name of my brethren with your lies...when I was nothing but a disgraced murderer wallowing in despair, an outcast knight vainly thirsting for death in single combat, Sir Grindrolas defeated me. By Sir Kaden's request, Sir Grindrolas spared me, even though I was guilty of the blood of his beloved lady, and they raised me up and showed me the true path of the virtuous knight. They called me their brother...and as I lay dying on the battlefield, they fought off hordes of Beleth’s undead to keep them from touching my body—they risked their lives to make sure I was laid undefiled in a place of honour. I will be faithful to their cause until time itself waxes feeble and dies.”

Zariel stopped walking, having come full circle back to where she began. She gave a grunt of annoyance, crossing her arms over her chest and rubbing her temple with two clawed fingers, the picture of consternation. “You are an impudent fool,” she growled, “I could crush you into dust if such were my will...” Her expression seemed to soften, if only slightly, “However, you deserve at least some consideration for humiliating that pathetic slug Bel and his pitiful toadies, if nothing else.”

Suddenly a thought seemed to occur to her, and she smiled again, a fiendish smile that would have made his blood run cold, if his blood were still running. “Suppose we make a _different_ sort of deal,” she said, “Ordinarily, I would not make such an offer; I would simply annihilate you where you stand for causing such disruption to my realm, but you impress me with your stubbornness and your fury in battle...”

Accolon narrowed his eyes, peering at her with suspicion over the rim of his shield. “What sort of deal?”

“I want you gone from this place, back to the mortal realm where you can't cause me any more annoyance, and where perhaps your insatiable fury and your so-called sense of justice will harvest many souls for me... Suppose I offer you the chance to be reborn? Take on an infernal form, and I will allow you to begin a new life...say the word and you shall become something like what the mortals call a Tiefling.”

“That's it?” he said, lowering his shield slightly, “I presume you're planning to have my soul as the cost of this little bargain?”

Zariel let out a cruel chuckle, “Your soul is already in Hell, Accolon the Dolorous...I want you out of it, remember? The price you pay in this bargain is assuming a mortal form forever tainted with the darkness of the Nine Hells, but then, there's a whole race of mortals in the same condition, so what does it matter? A rather poor bargain on my end, but I simply want your petty nuisance gone from my sight! Choose now, before I decide not to be so generous...”

Accolon lowered his weapons, casting them aside and regarding her with a resolute gaze. There was a time when his dark elven pride would have whipped him into a frenzy at the very notion of having his handsome form corrupted into something devilish, but what pride did he have left? His fall had already come and gone. 

“Very well, Lady Zariel,” he said crossing his arm over his chest and giving a knightly bow, “I accept your terms. Expel me from your kingdom and let me be reborn in this devilish form you speak of.”

“Hold out your right hand,” Zariel commanded.

Accolon obeyed, holding out his hand palm up.

The archdevil snapped her clawed fingers and a parchment wreathed in flame appeared hovering over Accolon's palm. It was the contract they had just spoken of, with a space at the bottom for his name to be signed.

With a cruel but bemused smirk, she stepped closer, the aura of pure malice that surrounded her threatening to drive him to his knees. He steeled himself as she reached out and grasped his free wrist, holding up his hand. “This will only hurt for a moment...” she said quietly. With a deft press of her thumb claw against his index fingertip, she drew the black blood of a damned soul. “Now, sign it.”

Accolon ran his eyes over the terms of the contract. Surprisingly, it was just as she had said, the only condition was his acceptance of being reborn in a hell-tainted body. Pressing his fingertip to the flaming parchment, he signed it in his own blood, sealing the pact. Closing his fist, he was startled when the parchment vanished, leaving behind a wisp of sulfuric smoke.

“You may summon this contract whenever you wish, should you need to refer to it...” she said with a cruel chuckle. “Now you had best be on your way...” she said, raising her open hand and conjuring a huge warhammer into her grasp. 

“Let this pact be carried out and the doorway opened!” she yelled, slamming the hammer hard into the earth at her feet. From the spot where her hammer struck, a swirling vortex of ether spread out into a circle about five feet across, the gateway to the mortal plane, he presumed.

“In honor of our deal, I will give you a gift, free of charge,” she said, resting her hammer on the dirt between her feet and cupping her hands over the end of the shaft.

“What might that be?” he said, halting mid step as he approached the vortex.

“I will honour you with a new name...henceforth, you shall be called, 'Accolon Hellbreaker.'”

He regarded her grim face for a moment in silence before he leaped into the void. As he descended and was enveloped in the swirling ether, he caught a brief glimpse of her eyes, noting a caste of sadness in them, and he thought he faintly heard her whisper, “You will return.” 


End file.
